Of Umbrellas and Pianos
by hystericalcherries
Summary: It's late when he finds himself seated at the bench before the grand piano. / Future!Adrinette.
It's late when he finds himself seated at the bench before the grand piano.

Late enough to still be considered night, but early enough that the sky is just beginning to shed its dark shadows in favor of the early morning stretch. There is a thin layer of clouds covering the sky, enveloping the heavens in a hug that dims the rising sun to nothing more than a muffled glow, and, if he focuses hard enough, he can hear the distant rumblings of a storm.

But there is a calm in this intermediate silence that draws him, that fills him even when stress and the world drains the energy from his very blood.

The fall board is lifted and pushed back, letting the keys, a luminescent ivory and an ever contrasting black, taste their first gulp of air in centuries. Long fingers trace their grooves and gloss over the entire spell of them, itching to have them signing.

And so he plays.

Hands poised over the sea of white and black, he starts off slow, hitting a few lone keys that echo in the spacious room and through the windows looking over the breathtaking sight of an overcast Paris. Soon, they're rejoicing in the accompaniment of more notes, harmonizing with one another in a sweet melody that flows from deep within his mind, through his veins and out the instruments of his fingers.

The notes breath alongside him, inhaling and exhaling in time with the world and the thread of existence is follows dutifully. He can see them, marching along a ribbon trail out from underneath the lid and around the room in a seemingly endless parade.

He leans forward, swaying with the music as he thinks of nothing and everything at once.

"Adrien?"

His fingers pause, but he doesn't turn around.

A warmth presses against his back, making him suddenly aware of the chill in the air and how empty the room had been before her entrance. Thin arms wrap themselves loosely around his neck just as a weight appears on his shoulder, bringing with it the aroma of cinnamon and flowers- it is a subsistence of love and he, a starving man..

"What are you doing up?"

She speaks in only a low murmur, the sound settling smoothly with the atmosphere of the room and the serenity that has taken hold of his being. He idly thinks that no instrument, his piano included, could rival the beautiful music that is her voice; he nearly tells her this, but eventually decides against it, knowing she will only give a light giggle and say something about how she married a bonafide cheese ball.

So, instead, he says, "Couldn't sleep."

She hums, procuring goosebumps where the vibrations run across his skin, and the tip of her nose trails across the expanse of his jaw. A thumb strokes aimlessly at his collarbone, the actions soothing enough that it has him letting forth a low hum his own. They fit together so perfectly, like a satisfied sigh in the night, and he thinks to himself that the universe must be jealous indeed.

Then there's the rustling of fabric as she shifts and perches delicately on the space he isn't currently taking up on the bench. Hands slide across his shoulders and down his arm, achingly gentle and slow, leaving him wanting more when they make themselves at home in her lap.

"It was pretty, what you were playing earlier," she says softly. "What's it called?"

He frowns. "I don't know."

She shrugs and he feels her shoulder brush against his bicep. "You could always name it now."

There is the muffled _tap, tap_ coming from outside. Water droplets start to fall to earth in a light drizzle, cleansing the morning.

"Maybe." His body shivers suddenly and he figures that maybe he should've dressed in something more than his thin pajama pants before adventuring out of bed. "Though I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Her fingers tap against her thigh where the pale skin peeks tantalizing out from under her long shirt, and he thinks he would rather them running their course over his stomach and back- not that he's going to say that out loud (just yet), because she looks to be actually pondering his dilemma. "Well, what does it make you think about?"

"You."

She'll be both pleased and embarrassed by the honest answer, he knows, and so he forces himself to retain his cool and start up his playing again. Though a quick side glance confirms his predictions, giving him a truly enticing image of his blushing wife, and something coils in the base of his stomach.

Eventually she's able to speak, "I doubt 'Marinette' would be a good name for it."

It is too easy to let one side of his mouth quirk up. He doesn't take his eyes off the keys, but he does lean toward her until their cheeks graze each other, loving the way he can physically feel the temperature of them rise. "I think it would be a perfect name for it."

Plump lips purse themselves, screwing up in an attempt to smother a responding smile. She flicks him in the temple. "Silly kitty, be serious."

"I am." She gives him a look and he sighs dramatically, straightening. "Fine, what do you think of when you hear it?"

Her head cocks to the side adorably as she listens to the consonance he plays for her, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek when she closes her eyes in thought. The sight has his muscles relaxing, sending a cool stream of tranquility through his body. It transfers in the notes he pushes out, bare foot pressing down momentarily on the pedal and giving the last key a rich tonal quality.

Then she is smiling, small and genuine, and he accidentally hits the wrong key. "Umbrellas."

The palette of the morning begins to lighten, caressing her skin and the gentle slopes of her face when he turns to fully look at her. His fingers stop their playing once again as he contemplates her answer; she doesn't mind it though, instead reaching over and tapping at a random key, which has her smile widening at the sound and tapping another.

"Umbrellas?" He cannot stop his eyebrows from raising that fraction of an inch, nor can he do anything about the perplexing tone his voice takes on.

She laughs and nods. "Umbrellas."

He tosses the word around his head. "Umbrellas..."

"Yes- well, hmm, okay, umbrella." A finger sneaks under his right hand and presses down on a key. "It makes me think about one umbrella in particular."

There is a significance he is missing. A detail, a moment, a memory- something, that floats at the outskirts of his mind. Sure, there are many details he can recall with clarity- the brightness of her smile, the sound of her snoring, the smooth curve of her calves, the feel of her body flushed against his. And there are memories, countless moments, that he would never forget- movie experiences that ended up in popcorn fights, late night talks that delved too deep, walks in the park during fall, getting his butt handed to him at video games, fighting crime and saving Paris. But this- _umbrella, umbrella, umbrella_ \- is something different. It is pure, ever truthful and the beginning of-

"Oh," he says finally. Blink. " _Oh._ "

She smiles and his heart blooms. Blooms and flourishes into a something so overpowering, so bigger than him, that it isn't all that surprising when he moves, quick as a cat, and suddenly she is in his arms.

A noise, somewhere between a squeak and a grunt, is drawn out of her throat, though it is nearly eclipsed by the rumble of pleasure that vibrates from his chest. He nuzzles against the nape of her neck, murmuring sweet nothings in between the act of pressing urgent kisses to the junction of her shoulder.

It is raining harder now, but the reminiscence of one moment long ago is sweet-tempered. There is a crack of lightning and a low grumble of thunder; the former is brighter than the Eiffel Tower and the later, such a lovely melody that it softens edges and fills hearts.

"Adrien," she mumbles, stroking his knuckles and where they help his hands curl around her trim waist. The sound of his name on her lips is powerful in how it leaves him feeling invincible, liquid fire running its course through his touch-craved body and leaving him thoroughly warm; he presses against her more fervently, wanting to show her how much she means to him. "Ah..."

He inhales her scent, peeking past the waves of hair and into her face. Her head tilts back until she can properly look him in the eyes, blue taking up his entire vision and the stars shining in them capturing him for all eternity. He never wants to escape, not if it means being away from her.

Lips part and she is whispering, "Play for me..."

Like a knight kneeling before a queen, her wish is his command. He guides them into a position where he can reach the keys with her settled comfortably in his lap, leaning forward until his body is cradling hers. She shivers when he breathes the words he lives by into her ear, "For you, my Lady, anything."

Then, then he begins to play.

* * *

A/N: A prize of nothing for those who can take a wild guess and figure out what inspired this. Hint: It's the ML Origins episodes and my own tears.


End file.
